


Healing

by what_a_dork_fish



Series: Cheriks [9]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Canon Disabled Character, Erik Has Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Multi, Oblivious Cupcake Charles, Pining, Platonic Cuddling, Slow Burn, not as slow as some of my other fics but still slow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-15 19:01:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11237235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_a_dork_fish/pseuds/what_a_dork_fish
Summary: The one where Charles is dealing with broken bones and a broken heart, and Erik wants to help with both.





	1. A Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still researching how to accommodate for a wheelchair so if anyone has tips/finds an inaccuracy please leave a comment!

Charles laid back in the tub and leaned his head back with a heavy sigh.

The breakup still hurt. It’d been a week, but there were still traces all through the flat of Zander. The bathroom, at least, was clean; Charles had scrubbed it from top to bottom (as well as he could) as soon as Zander had cleaned out his things. And they’d only had sex in the tub a few times, so it was safe. It was the rest of the flat he was worried about.

Thankfully, he had help. Help that had ordered him to take this bubblebath to try and relax. Erik was a good friend–the best, in fact–but he still didn’t know how relationships worked. You couldn’t just get over someone by cleaning your flat and taking baths. Although the warm, lavender-scented embrace of the bath _was_ very soothing. And it was nice to have someone else to do the heavy lifting. It’d only been a few weeks since he’d been released from the hospital; he still wasn’t up for much beyond folding laundry.

Zander hadn’t wanted to do any of the things Charles couldn’t do anymore, though. That should have been a sign, that he left the hard chores to Charles, but they were all things that he enjoyed, so he hadn’t batted an eye. And then after the accident the flat started to look horrible, and Charles realized that Zander did absolutely _nothing_ with his day except his transcription work and browsing the internet.

Charles realized his hands were clenched tightly on the sides of the tub. He forced them to relax, and dipped them back under the water to rest on his unresponsive thighs. Even through his anger, he missed Zander. He missed his silly jokes and back massages. He missed his kisses and clumsiness. He missed his everything. Charles sniffled a little.

“Charles?” Erik appeared in the doorway. “Are you alright?”

Charles shook his head. With anyone else he’d force a smile and say he was fine. Erik knew him too well, though. He’d sense a lie immediately.

Erik walked over and sat on the floor by the tub, folding his arms on the edge of it. “He was a dick,” Erik said bluntly. “He used you.”

“He didn’t use me,” Charles protested, sitting up straight and wincing as the sudden movement pulled on his back. Erik immediately reached over and pushed him back, gently. His hand lingered on Charles’ shoulder for a moment longer than it should’ve, but that was probably him being protective again.

“He did,” Erik replied firmly. “He was a leech. You need some more time to see that.”

Charles sighed heavily again. “I don’t expect you understand being in love,” he began, overly-patient, “But–”

“What do you mean by that?” Erik snapped, straightening and scowling thunderously.

“It’s just, you’ve never–never–” Charles frowned, wracking his brain to find the words to articulate his observations. “You haven’t been in a relationship since I met you twenty years ago.”

“Maybe there’s a reason for that,” Erik snapped. Then he looked surprised, and then terrified, and then he blushed furiously.

“A rea–Erik?” Charles automatically raised his hand and grabbed Erik’s arm, anger and alarm rising in his chest. “Did someone hurt you? Did–”

“No one hurt me,” Erik interrupted, still blushing. “I just… there’s a person, alright?”

Charles frowned. “For twenty years?”

Erik scowled, and then his expression turned soft and sad. “Yes,” he said softly. “And no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Charles rubbed his arm gently. “Well… when you do, you know I’ll listen, right?”

Erik looked at him and smiled crookedly. “I know.”

~

Charles couldn’t get out of the tub.

Erik took off his shirt, pulled Charles’ wet arm around his shoulder, and reached into the tub to carefully lift Charles out and set him on the (closed) toilet. Charles watched the muscles in Erik’s chest and arm flex, and resisted the urge to touch them. He’d always been fascinated by Erik. Something about him…

But he’d never shown it, and he wasn’t about to start now. Not when looking at Erik’s bare chest reminded him of Zander’s tattoos and how he could do forty pushups in a row and not break a sweat. Which wasn’t that impressive when he remembered that Erik could do one hundred, but Erik was never so very proud about it.

Erik wrapped Charles in a couple towels, wiped away the tears, and brought him a box of tissues. Then he emptied the bath and set up the shower-seat again that Charles loathed but knew he needed. He loathed everything that showed that things were different, now. Harder. He couldn’t reach the counters very well. He couldn’t reach the cupboards or bookshelves at all. The furniture had to be moved. God, _everything_ had to be moved. And no one was available to help except Erik and Raven, and even Raven had better things to do.

Speaking of which…

“Don’t you have better things to do today?” Charles asked, when he wasn’t crying anymore. Erik had brought him clean clothes and was patting the floor dry with a hand-towel. “I know you have work that you need to finish.”

“It can wait,” Erik answered dismissively. “Do you need help dressing?”

Charles thought about it, then nodded reluctantly. So Erik helped him get dressed. They weren’t shy around each other; or, Charles wasn’t shy around Erik. Erik was still very private, while Charles didn’t really give a damn anymore. Still, there was something slightly humiliating in needing help getting dressed. Charles was sure he’d get the hang of it eventually, but until then… well, eventually he’d get it.

Erik carried him out of the bathroom, careful of his back, and set him in his chair. It wasn’t very comfortable, but it had been the cheapest he could find that didn’t have a million bad reviews. He was saving up for a better one; that would take a while, though, with all the other changes that had to happen first.

Like finding a better flat, for one. Preferably one on the ground floor. He was immensely lucky he lived in a building with an elevator, but he could already tell his neighbors were getting tired of having to share with a wheelchair. Maybe he could just move to a different flat in the same building…

“I found something last night,” Erik said suddenly, following as Charles rolled into the living room (much cleaner, with the furniture rearranged just so and a lunch of Chinese takeaway spread on the coffee table). “I thought you might prefer it.”

“Prefer it to what?” Charles asked, slightly bewildered, as he parked the chair by the couch and levered himself over. It took some maneuvering, and a little help from Erik, but he managed to get comfortable.

Erik picked up his laptop and brought it over, setting it in Charles’ lap. Charles blinked. It was a listing, a house for rent. A house. Modified, in fact, to accommodate…

Charles grinned and looked over at Erik, who had sat beside him. “You are the best friend in the world,” he said warmly.

Erik shrugged, but he was blushing a little. “Thought it’d be better than just trying to make an apartment work,” he muttered, and dug into his beef and broccoli.

Charles scrolled down, reading the descriptions and specifications. One floor, with a ramp from the front door to the driveway, and covered walkway between garage and house; counters and cupboards in the kitchen had been lowered, though the appliances (included) were standard size; both bathrooms, half and full, had been modified; all doorways had been widened. And it was quite spacious; plenty big enough for all of his furniture and books. Charles bit his lip, heart sinking after the initial surge of delight. It was probably too expensive. He could already barely afford the rent here; what would the rent on a whole _house_ be? And indeed, when he checked the price, he felt his face fall.

“I’d never be able to afford that,” he murmured.

“Not in full, no,” Erik agreed, still fixed on his food. Charles looked up sharply, sensing one of Erik’s more reckless moments. “But if you had a roommate, it’d be fine.”

“A roommate.” Charles laughed, a little bitterly. “Right. As if anyone would want to live with me.”

“I would.”

Charles paused, and stared at Erik. The other swallowed his mouthful and looked up to stare back, almost defiantly.

“I have a good income,” Erik explained. “I could split rent with you. If I trade in my car, I could afford a van.”

“Erik, no--”

“As long as you don’t mind getting to work early and leaving late, I could drive you,” Erik continued, as if he hadn’t heard.

“You don’t have to--”

“I don’t mind short counters, I work with those really short ladies who lower the worktables all the time, and I could probably turn your bookshelves sideways for you so they’re easier to reach, and--”

“Erik!”

Erik stopped, looking defensive. Charles took a deep breath and let it out, trying not to let it shake. “You don’t have to do all that,” he insisted. “I _can_ live on my own.”

“I know that. But do you _want_ to?”

Charles opened his mouth to respond, then shut it again. He’d never lived alone before. Thirty-four years, he’d never once been on his own. The very idea terrified him. That’s why he’d clung to Raven for so long. But surely he could manage? Surely he could survive.

With no one else’s crumbs on the counter? With only his own jackets and scarves and hats cluttering the entryway? With no one’s music, no one’s voice, no one’s presence?

He looked at Erik and tried to see any misgivings, any secret hopes that he’d say no, and saw none. Just Erik’s sober, challenging expression. Erik, who’d always been there for him, who’d always come to Charles first with everything, who had dropped everything the moment he heard of the accident (or so Hank said). Not even Zander had done that.

Charles reached out and took Erik’s hand. Erik’s fingers wrapped around his own, strong and warm and _there_.

“Okay,” Charles whispered. “Okay. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”


	2. A few complications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got very excited and wrote for, like, three or four hours straight. So you get a chapter early, hooray!

It didn’t really hit Charles until Erik asked which van he thought would be best, that they were really going to do this.

“How expensive are they?” Charles asked Erik, feeling rather anxious. His salary from the college was not tiny, but it wasn’t enough to cover rent, bills, groceries,  _ and _ a van. Even Erik’s assurances that he had the savings to pay for most of it didn’t allay all of Charles’ worries. Zander had taken the car, and Charles was fairly sure he could manage the bus, but Erik was determined, and a determined Erik was impossible to reason with. It was what had made their friendship so rocky during high school and college. Well. It was mostly that.

“It’s not listed on this site,” Erik answered Charles’ question, eyeing the website thoughtfully. “It says to call. But I think these are too far away, anyway. Yes, that one is in Indiana.”

“Would it be cheaper to buy one outright or get one modified?” Charles murmured, fiddling with the cuff of his cardigan. His sick-leave was coming to an end; tomorrow he was going back to work. He was nervous about that. He didn’t want awkward questions.

“Well, it’d certainly be faster to just buy one,” Erik replied, switching tabs. “This site says modifications to a van could take up to four weeks.”

Charles winced. Erik noticed and hooked one corner of his mouth upwards in a wry smile. “I take it that’s a no?” he inquired dryly.

“Yes. I mean, yes, that’s a no.” Charles bit his lip. “Could we get portable ramps? Would those work do you think?”

“Probably, but I don’t know where we’d get them. Whereas… ah! Found one!” Erik swiveled the laptop so Charles could see. It was a clean, professional-looking site that listed several different vans, with multiple pictures of each. Charles’ eye caught on a darkish silver one; it looked a good size, though he knew nothing of cars and therefore all the other specs made no sense to him, and it had the least modifications. That would make it cheaper, yes?

It was, it turned out. Erik made the call, asking about prices, when they could pick it up, if there would be any extra fees, etcetera. Charles fidgeted next to him and wished he could bounce his leg like he used to. He glared at his knees.

Erik reached out and patted his leg absently, continuing to talk on the phone. He only did that when Charles bounced. So he must know that’s what Charles ached to do. Charles felt his throat tighten as a surge of affection overtook him, and he grabbed Erik’s hand and held it tight. Zander wouldn’t have known. Two years they’d been together, and he was sure Zander wouldn’t have known.

Two versus twenty, though. He’d met Erik at a summer camp when they were children, and they’d found that they lived relatively close; so it was only natural (in Charles’ opinion) that Charles would badger Erik into handing over his address so he could visit. The other children in the foster home hated Charles, but they hated everyone it seemed, so Charles didn’t think much of it. All he cared about was the thrill of finally having a friend other than his sister (who liked Erik because he helped her with her homework).

So, yes. Eighteen years of constant companionship (the missing two were when Erik went away to England for college while Charles was still in high school, during which Charles had missed him so much he felt sick some days) would win out against two years any day.

Charles leaned over slowly and braced his head on Erik’s shoulder, just as Erik was saying goodbye. He could hear the smile in Erik’s voice as he asked, “What, tired already?”

“No,” Charles replied, “Just grateful.” He let go of Erik’s hand to wrap his arms around Erik and hug him. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” He told himself he was  _ not _ crying.

Erik turned a little and hugged back, running his fingers through Charles’ hair. “You’re welcome,” he murmured.

~

Charles found out about wheelchair accessible taxis later that night and nearly cried again. He  _ wouldn’t _ have to figure out the bus on his first day back. He had just enough money to cover a ride to campus; he told himself not to think about how he was going to get home. 

If Zander had been there, he would’ve ridden the bus and saved some money. Zander would’ve gone with him, helped him figure it out.

But Zander had called Charles a cripple and said he couldn’t live always taking care of him.

Charles didn’t want to sleep alone that night, but Erik had work, so he didn’t say anything. He knew Erik would’ve stayed--how many sleepovers had they had? Surely over a thousand--but he didn’t want to mess up Erik’s routine. He had a very strict regime for mornings. Charles, having witnessed his fury on a day where his morning was messed up, did  _ not _ want to be the cause of another explosion.

So he lay awake for two hours, flipping between rage and loneliness. Eventually his mind decided that sadness was better, and he fell asleep with tears on his face.

~

People stared.

He thought he’d prepared himself for this, but apparently he hadn’t. Not really.

The staring was bad enough. Then there were the people--students and teachers he didn’t even  _ know _ \--who asked, in scandalized tones, “What  _ happened _ to you?”

“An accident,” he muttered every time, “Excuse me.”

Some of them didn’t take the hint. There was one girl, couldn’t have been more than eighteen, who followed him and peppered him with questions, ignoring his repeated insistence that really, he didn’t want to talk about it, and anyway he had a class to teach, shouldn’t she be getting to her own classes? She finally shut up at that and scurried away.

Wheeling into his classroom, he studiously ignored the dropped jaws, the wrinkled brows, the uneasy looks, and started setting up for the day. He glanced at the whiteboard and sighed internally, then put together a quick powerpoint on what they were going to talk about today and hooked his laptop up to the projector, something he hadn’t done in years. He was suddenly very glad they’d installed wireless projectors in all the classrooms.

“Alright,” he said, turning to the class, and deciding to nip the rumors in the bud. “Since I can see you all staring, I suppose I should tell you what’s going on.” He took a deep breath and continued, “I was in an accident, that’s why I was gone for so long. It’s just my legs. No, I can’t walk at all. No, I won’t be walking any time soon.” Unspoken went the words, ‘Or ever again’. “No, I will not be taking questions on it. Yes, classes will continue as normal. How many of you finished your essays?”

Class did continue as normal. It was easy to settle into the rhythm of it, even if he couldn’t pace as he usually did. After a bit, no one even glanced at the chair, focused on him and his words. It made him feel much better. 

The next period, he gave the same announcement. Just as he was about to ask for essays, Scott, the one who always asked inappropriate questions, raised his hand and asked, “Why won’t you take questions on it?”

“Because we are in class,” Charles answered shortly. “Did you finish your essay, Mr. Summers?”

“Does that mean you’ll take questions  _ after _ class?”

“No.”

Suspicious looks from some students. Charles’ mouth went tight, and he could almost  _ feel _ everyone flinch. That was never a good sign. He’d never given an entire class punishment work, but he was not above doing so.

But he didn’t feel like dishing out punishments. So instead he said, “Everyone please pass your papers forward.”

The day passed without any strangeness, though he did eat his lunch at his desk instead of at his favorite coffee shop or in the cafeteria. Moira came by to say hello, and said absolutely nothing about his chair or the fact that he couldn’t even stand to hug her. They complained together and discussed problem students until it was time for her to get back to her office. She gave Charles a kiss on the cheek as she left, and he felt a little better about not getting a hug.

He was wrapping up for the day, putting away papers, shutting down his computer, and swearing eloquently when he inevitably got stuck between his desk and the chair in front of it, when Erik texted him.

E: Come to the parking lot. I have a surprise.

C: I hate surprises.

E: You’ll like this one.

C: Is it the van?

No reply. Charles grinned. That meant it was. How did Erik get it so quickly?

He was wheeling down the hall, humming his favorite song to himself, when something suddenly slammed into him from behind, spinning his chair and throwing it down on its side. For one horrible moment he felt his lungs contract, felt the crushing weight slamming into his side, felt like he was  _ there _ again--

Somehow he didn’t crack his head on the floor, although he did sprawl, ungainly and twisted. He raised his head, still confused by the memory, and saw three young men running down the hall, laughing and whooping as they skidded around the corner. Charles recognized the red-tinted sunglasses on one boy’s face.

“Scott,” he growled, and pushed himself upright. His back was shouting that it  _ did not _ like the way it was being treated right now, and as he scooted away from the fallen chair, he could only hope that none of his cracked ribs or the fracture in his pelvis were jarred. They didn’t hurt that much; or at least his back was drowning them out. He winced and looked around for his things. His laptop bag had skittered to the wall to his right, and his briefcase had fallen out of the pocket on the back of his chair. He tugged his phone out of his trouser pocket and texted Erik.

C: I seem to have encountered a delay.

E: What happened?

C: Some idiots knocked me over and did not look back.

E: I’m coming to find you.

C: It’s alright, I can get up on my own.

E: I’m still coming to find you. Where are you?

Charles sighed and texted him the wing he was in, then set about righting his chair and gathering his things. It was very tiring. Scooting around on the floor, dragging the dead weights that were his legs, was not fun and just made him hurt more.

He was resting with his bags in his lap when Erik came around the corner. There was already a foreboding expression on Erik’s face; when he saw Charles it only intensified. Charles gave a weak smile.

“I’m not hurt,” he lied.

“You’re lying,” Erik said flatly, walking forward quickly. “You’ve got that look on your face. Is it your back?”

Charles’ smile faded. “Yes,” he answered.

Erik leaned down, and Charles reached up; Erik took hold of Charles’ biceps, and Charles clutched Erik’s shoulders, and they somehow both got Charles upright enough to settle in his chair.

“May I push you?” Erik asked.

“Yes, please,” Charles sighed. “My arms hurt.”

Erik did not say anything, but Charles could feel the anger radiating off him. Well, Charles was angry too, so he supposed he shouldn’t admonish Erik. He just sat back and let his friend work out his anger by walking very fast. 

They reached the exit, and Erik slowed so Charles could hit the automatic open for the door, and so that his chair wouldn’t bounce too hard on the sill. The sidewalk was deserted, but there were still some cars in the parking lot, including a silver van. Charles smiled when he saw it.

“How did you get it so quickly?” he asked, leaning his head back to look upside down at Erik.

Erik smirked smugly, finally relaxing a little. “It’s a secret,” he answered.

Charles rolled his eyes, but didn’t push. Erik had never told him a secret before he was ready to.

It wasn’t very difficult to figure out the ramp and how to lock the wheels down, but Erik double-checked everything. Charles pushed his shoulder gently, and Erik finally closed the door and went around to climb into the driver’s seat. Charles looked around the interior of the van, curious; it looked much like any other, except without seats. He leaned forward a little to peer over Erik’s shoulder; the dashboard was identical to an unmodified van.

Charles settled back in his chair and smiled slightly. This… wasn’t half bad.

Of course problems arose when they got to Charles’ apartment block, because when they were getting in the elevator, three other adults shoved in with them, making it impossible to turn Charles’ chair. They barely glanced at Charles, but they seemed uneasy with the way Erik was glaring at them. Well, they should be. Charles’ temper was shortened by a long day and current pain, so he didn’t do anything to signal Erik to leave them alone.

Charles lived on the fourth floor. These people obviously lived on the fifth, the top, because they didn’t get out of the elevator when it dinged on the fourth. Erik snarled a quiet “Move,” and the man blocking the door inched out of the way, looking ashamed. There was more awkward shuffling, and then Erik and Charles were able to back out of the elevator. Charles twisted to look around the corridor, to make sure no one was behind him, and almost missed the mumbled “Sorry,” from one of the other passengers. He didn’t bother looking for who said it.

Another problem was opening the door to Charles’ flat and being greeted with the scent of Zander’s cologne.

Charles’ eyes widened, and he wheeled forward past the entryway--

Zander was standing in the middle of the living room, looking furious. When he turned sharply, he barely glanced at Charles, eyes instead lighting on Erik behind him.

“So you’ve moved in already, have you?” he snapped, “I knew you couldn’t wait for me to get out of the way.”

“What the fuck are  _ you _ doing here?” Erik snarled. Since Charles was wondering the same thing (and what the hell did Zander mean?) he didn’t bother speaking up. Also his heart was aching and his throat was tight and he probably couldn’t talk without crying.

“I came back to say sorry, but apparently that’s not needed, not with  _ you _ already here.” Finally his glare moved to Charles, and the fury turned to a kind of betrayed look that Charles saw through in an instant. He wasn’t here to say “sorry”. He hadn’t wanted to talk to Charles at all.

He thought he should be angry, but all he felt was tired and broken.

“Why are you here, Zander?” he asked softly.

Now Zander looked a little uncertain. Not guilty, just uncertain. Maybe he was hoping Charles would burst into tears and beg him to stay.

Well. Charles didn’t want to. So he wasn’t going to.

“I…” Zander said.

“I think you should leave,” Charles replied, quiet but firm.

Zander looked like he wanted to say something else… but after a moment he silently took his leave. Charles wheeled into the kitchen, then remembered he couldn’t reach the top cupboard. “Erik?” he asked, and there he was, like always. Charles took Erik’s hand and pressed his cheek against it. Always there. “Could you get down the scotch, please?”

Erik did so, and they went to the living room to sit on the couch and quietly drink. Erik put his arm around Charles’ shoulders, and Charles leaned against him.

“You still strike him speechless,” Erik noted tonelessly.

“He was just expecting me to beg him to stay,” Charles murmured. He was tired, but he had grading to do. “And when I didn’t, he didn’t know what to do. I knew I should’ve asked the landlord to change the lock.”

“You read people so easily,” Erik murmured, and there was something sad in his tone. Charles looked up, confused, but Erik wasn’t looking at him. He was staring at the television.

Charles sighed a little and squirmed a little closer, closing his eyes and just… just relaxing into Erik’s warmth. God, he missed this. Cuddling, with no ulterior motive. “I don’t, though,” he murmured. “I just guess. Sometimes I’m right, sometimes not.” He sighed again, heavily. “I have to grade those essays,” he muttered.

Erik started to move away. Charles immediately reached up and grabbed his shirt. Erik chuckled and pulled him a little closer. “But it can wait?”

“It can wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments = Life, Love, and Happiness.


	3. Here it comes!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited about this fic?????? I'm desperate to get to the Big Reveal. LET'S DO A VOTE!
> 
> When should Charles figure it out?  
> 1\. His birthday party  
> 2\. Raven and Moira intervene because there is nothing quite like having one's sister and one's best friend gang up on you for The Talk  
> 3\. Newly moved in and having a Moment

Charles was the one to schedule the walk-through of the house. He did so on his lunch break, in his office, so no one would interrupt him. He texted Erik the time and date, and smiled a little to himself.

While Erik hadn’t really “moved in” as such, he was still spending nearly every evening helping Charles and keeping him company, both of them working on their laptops and occasionally taking breaks to talk. Charles had insisted (weakly, he did admit) that he could take care of himself, and really, Erik should focus more on himself. But Erik had shook his head and got on with cooking dinner.

Charles could admit it to himself, here, alone; he enjoyed Erik’s company too much to ask him to leave. These last two years had been… hard, on their friendship. Erik had been promoted, and Charles had met Zander, and then suddenly there was barely time for their Sunday lunches, or their sporadic evening phone calls. But now, they had every night, and it was… good.

There was a knock on his door. He jolted back into the present and called, “Come in.”

It was Moira, and following her was…

“Raven!”

Both women grinned, and Raven crossed the office at a skip to lean down and hug her big brother. He hugged back, tightly, and didn’t even mind when she primly straightened his collar above his jumper. He just grinned at her and asked, “Why didn’t you call?”

“Because I wanted to surprise you,” she answered, leaning her hip on the edge of the desk while Moira cleared it enough to set down her lunch box and begin taking out sandwiches. “How have you been?”

So much wrapped in one question, Charles didn’t really know where to start. So he started with, “Well, I’ve learnt to shower properly.”

“I thought you’ve been smelling less,” Moira added thoughtfully, passing Charles a sandwich and a paper napkin.

Raven laughed a little. “Okay, so you’re clean. What else?”

Charles hesitated, then answered, “Erik’s been helping me with most things.”

Raven and Moira both froze, staring at him. “Oh, has he now,” Raven said softly.

Charles sighed. “Yes. He has. He helped me clean out the flat, and… he’s been coming over more lately, to help with chores.”

Moira relaxed. Raven narrowed her eyes. “What else has he done to help?” Raven asked, crossing her arms.

He tried not to squirm. He didn’t like where this conversation was heading. Lately Raven had decided she didn’t like Erik as much as she used to, and it was very confusing, but Charles couldn’t figure out why and he didn’t really want to ask.

“He’s driving me to and from school,” Charles offered.

“In his dinky little car?”

“No, he sold it and bought a van.” Immediately he knew that was the wrong thing to say, and blushed as Moira looked alarmed and Raven’s face clouded. “It was really the only way besides the bus,” he hastened to add, “And anyway, once we’re housemates--”

“Housemates?” Raven repeated incredulously.

Charles blinked, then firmed his mouth and tipped his chin up. “Yes. He found a house that we can afford if we split rent. It’s been modified, and he said he doesn’t mind. So we’re going to look at it in a few days. Once we’re housemates it’ll just be easier to share a car.”

“Charles, he gets up at  _ 5AM _ ,” Raven reminded him, “You’re useless until seven.”

“I can learn to get up earlier,” Charles replied firmly. “And anyway, I don’t see why you should be concerned.”

Raven’s lips thinned, and she glared at him for a moment. Then her face relaxed into one of grudging acceptance, and she sighed heavily. “Well, I don’t expect you to see it, after all these years,” she said.

Charles frowned. “See what?”

Moira rolled her eyes. Raven shook her head, and changed the subject. “What topic are you subjecting your students to now?”

Charles continued to wonder, but he was mostly distracted by talking. Raven and Hank were finally getting serious; Hank had even reopened the old labs in the basement of the house for his work. Raven was getting bigger roles; directors were learning that she wasn’t just another “dumb blonde”, she was dedicated, hard-working, and fiercely intelligent. Moira had gotten another job offer from the CIA, but she’d refused again, citing that she prefered her position as head of campus security. Charles was selfishly glad. And Raven and Moira were planning Charles’ birthday party and he wasn’t allowed to refuse. He rolled his eyes, but smiled all the same.

After lunch, he was setting up for his next class when Scott shuffled in, looking very uncomfortable. Charles eyed him, silently judging. Scott was rumpled as always, but his face was shiny with sweat and his glasses kept slipping.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted.

“For what?” Charles asked, lacing his hands together and keeping a serene expression.

“For knocking you over that one time,” Scott answered. “We… we weren’t looking.”

“Mm-hm.” Charles stared him down. His legs were prickling again, painful little pins, but he ignored them in favor of making Scott squirm some more.

“Okay, we  _ were _ looking,” Scott burst out, “And I’m really sorry I went along with it, and I’ll make it up to you, I swear, just please don’t sic that tall guy on me!”

Charles blinked. “Tall guy?” he repeated.

“The guy who drives you around,” Scott clarified, still sweating. “J-James said you were gonna give him names and he was gonna find us.”

“Oh, Erik? No, he wouldn’t--well, he might,” Charles amended. Erik was still angry about that incident. “But I won’t give him names. He has enough to deal with.” Charles narrowed his eyes at Scott. “Why would James say that?”

Scott flushed. “He… he overheard… well, the guys I was with, they wanted to do it again,” he mumbled, eyes dropping to the floor. “I said I didn’t want to, and James said if we did you’d sic that guy on us. And he’s  _ scary _ .”

Charles wanted to object that Erik wasn’t scary, just a little intimidating before you got to know him; but he had to concede that Scott and Co. would never be on Erik’s Accepted People list. So he sighed instead. “I would not ‘sic’ Erik on you. First of all, he has much better things to do with his time. Second, you’re still quite young. Third…” Charles smiled, and Scott, who had looked up, shrank a little. “Why should I, when I could just have you write another essay?”

Scott paled. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

“Ten pages,” Charles ordered crisply, “Double-spaced, AP format. On the subject of discrimination towards the disabled. I want it tomorrow morning. I  _ will _ be grading it.”

Scott nodded dumbly, then turned and slunk out of the classroom. Smirking to himself, Charles went back to work.

~

The agent was all smiles and cheerful greetings when Charles and Erik arrived at the house, but Charles could sense a kind of brittleness about her, a recoiling of sorts. He smiled politely and shook her hand, but he didn’t buy her charm and cheer.

He did like the house, however. It was all tile and laminate, no carpet, which he’d discovered was harder to roll on. At least, the plush carpet in his flat was. The doorways were wide enough that he wasn’t worried he’d scrape them. The counters and cabinets in the bathroom, half-bath, and kitchen were lower, more accessible, with space underneath the counter for his legs. The toilets were lower as well, and the bathtub was just the right height. Windows were low enough that he could open or close them himself. The more he looked, the more he liked it. And the more he hoped they really could afford it.

“The last owner passed away a year ago, sadly,” the agent was saying in her falsely cheerful chirrup as Charles wondered how Erik, at 6’2”, was going to manage. “She was a wheelchair-user as well. She managed fine on her own, though.”

“Hmm,” Erik said, which was all he’d been saying for the whole time they’d been viewing the house. Charles cast him an amused look, then smiled at the real estate agent.

“And I can see how,” he answered her, glancing around again. They were in the kitchen, and he was quite taken with the way the island had two tiers, one side standard height and one side at the perfect height for Charles. “Erik?”

Erik looked down at him, thoughtfully. Then his lips quirked, and he said, “I like it.”

Charles beamed. He was sure Erik was only saying that because Charles liked it, but it was still a kind gesture.

Raven had insisted on giving Charles a healthy amount of money (she had inherited the fortune after Charles was written out of Mother’s will), so they were able to pay the deposit and first month’s rent as soon as they got back to the real estate office. Then they were handed the keys, some papers, and a lukewarm handshake.

Then they decided to break the news to the rest of their friends.

~

Charles decided to do it via social media, Facebook and Twitter; Erik called each of his friends on the phone to explain. He didn’t have very many people to call. He spent the longest amount of time arguing with Emma, an argument that only ended when Emma said something that made Erik flush a deep red and jab the ‘end call’ button on his cellphone viciously.

“What’s wrong?” Charles asked, feeling his eyebrows draw together as Erik trudged over to the couch and sat next to Charles, flinging his arm around Charles’ shoulders almost defiantly. 

“Nothing,” he muttered, relaxing as Charles leaned against him slightly. Charles  _ thought _ he knew what was wrong; Emma had never liked him, had always done her best to keep them apart, but after the first year of friendship she’d backed off, disgusted. Maybe she was back at it again, bringing up the past as a way to convince Erik to abandon Charles.

The thought of Erik leaving made Charles feel sick.

So he snuggled closer under Erik’s arm and told himself he wasn’t happy that Erik tightened his grip on Charles, rubbing his arm slowly and soothingly as he explained to his many, many friends that  _ no _ , this was  _ not _ a rebound relationship, this was just a dear friend helping him overhaul his life.

Charles’ legs were prickling again. He tried to ignore them, but it was hard. Erik noticed his fidgeting and asked, “Something hurting?”

“My legs,” he admitted. “They… prickle a lot. I don’t know why.”

“Do you want some painkillers?”

“No, thank you.” He rested his head against Erik’s chest. The affection was stopping up his throat again, making his eyes feel hot, making him want to wrap his arms around Erik and never let go. But that was silly. So he settled for listening to Erik’s heartbeat, steady and low. He didn’t realize he was falling asleep until Erik murmured, “Are you that tired already?”

“What time is it?” Charles mumbled.

“Barely noon.”

“Mm.” He wished he could press closer somehow, but he was already so tight to Erik’s side he felt like they were on the edge of melding together. “You’re comfortable, that’s all.”

“Comfortable?”

“Yes. You are the best person in the world for cuddling, did you know that?” Charles knew he should probably shut up, but he didn’t feel like it. “You’re always warm, and even though you don’t have any pudge you’re still cuddly. Sometimes--” Then his throat closed up, and he shivered, not even smiling when Erik immediately put his other arm around Charles too.

“Sometimes?” Erik prompted.

“Sometimes I wished he was you,” Charles whispered hoarsely.

Then he was crying, and Erik was stroking his hair and murmuring soothingly, humming old German songs, a warm and immovable presence. Solid, protective. Charles clung to him and cried himself out, and unlike the other times, he felt… calmer. Safer. Happier.

He opened his eyes and Erik was setting him gently on the bed, blankets pulled out of the way. When he started to cover him, Charles gripped his arm and said, “Stay.”

So Erik climbed into bed with Charles and held him until he slept, deeply, dreamlessly, happily.

~

Of course it couldn’t last.

Charles knew it was ridiculous. He knew he was being silly. But he also knew that he was very, very attached to his sofa, and did not want to sell it.

“We won’t have room for two couches,” Erik reasoned for the eighth time, utterly exasperated. “And you said yourself mine is more comfortable.”

“Which is why I want to keep mine, because I won’t be able to get too comfortable to move,” Charles argued. It was the weakest argument he could come up with, but he’d already used up his stronger ones (which had also been quite weak).

Erik scowled. “It’s an ugly monstrosity,” he said of Charles’ sofa.

“You helped me pick it out!”

“No, Raven did. I was just there to haul it.”

“You and Raven agreed and then convinced me to get it!”

“You were eyeing it already.”

Charles thought back to that day, and scowled. Erik was right, curse him. His memory was as good as Charles’. Better, in fact.

He didn’t want to let it go. It was silly. But there were memories attached to it that he never wanted to let go. There were bad memories too, of course, but the good drowned them out. Funny, why were most of the good memories about Raven and Erik? Surely he should be able to remember other people. Moira was there, and a few of his nicer flings… but no, nobody else.

Whereas Erik’s couch had been his aunt’s, and had many memories of his family with it. And family was extremely important to Erik. More important than a stupid fucking couch.

Charles felt a wave of chagrin and irritation with himself. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Erik peered at him suspiciously, then asked, “For what? You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“I’m being silly. I’m sorry about that.” Charles looked down at his hands, curled limply in his lap. He’d been like this with Zander, too, bullheaded and not really thinking about what the other wanted. A few shouting matches had taught him when to stop, think, and give ground.

Erik was silent for a moment. Then he said, “While I agree that you’re being silly, I have to cede that I’m silly too. They’re just couches.”

“Yes, but--” Charles bit his lip and stopped himself before he could spill his reasoning. Erik would laugh, he knew it. Zander certainly would’ve.

Three weeks he’d been gone.

“Which one is shorter?” Erik asked suddenly.

“Huh? Oh. I think mine is.”

“Do we want to have friends over sometimes?”

“Yes?”

“Then mine is better,” Erik decided. And that was that. Instead of sentimental attachments, they treated it like a logistics session, and Charles found it easier to argue for or against something. He didn’t even flinch when Erik teased him gently about how he shouldn’t have a say, since he wouldn’t be carrying anything other than boxes. He was too glad for something to do on this lazy Sunday.

Tomorrow they’d begin moving in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments = Life, Love, and Happiness.
> 
> (and a quicker finish!)


	4. The realizations begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Votes are in!!!! I think it will be next chapter!!!!! _yes yes good_

The first things to go to the house were the pieces of furniture that Charles and Erik had agreed to keep. Alex, Darwin, Sean, and Angel (former students, current friends) came to help carry. Hank and Charles packed boxes, since Charles hadn’t been able to finish. Erik hadn’t bothered modifying the bookcases; instead he built brand new ones (sacrificing a few evenings during which Charles had felt rather lonely and annoyed with himself for feeling that way) no higher than Charles’ shoulder that were sturdy enough to hold all his books as well as support Erik’s extra-large tv.

Some days Charles could kiss Erik for being the best friend in the world.

They ran into trouble when the landlord came by and tried to tell Charles he was being evicted.

“And why, pray tell, is that?” Charles asked, beginning to frown.

“Yes,” Erik added silkily, as Charles’ friends gathered in the entryway to stare down the landlord, “Why is that?”

“Well, it’s just, there’s been a lot of complaints about you,” the landlord told Charles, glancing nervously at the collection of unimpressed stares, “About how you get underfoot--”

“Oh, yes, and that is supposedly  _ my _ fault?” Charles interrupted, temper mounting.

“Yes,” the landlord answered, “When are you just going to get crutches? They’re easier than wheelchairs and you won’t make so many people uncomfortable.”

Charles flushed, he couldn’t tell if it was with pain or anger, and put out his hand just in time to stop Erik from shoving past and giving the landlord a piece of his mind (and perhaps a shiner) right there in the hall. “I’m already moving out,” he told the landlord coldly. “And you can’t evict me just because I’m in a wheelchair.”

“We’ll sue you into next week if you try,” Sean added acidly. His mother was a lawyer, so he knew quite a bit about suing people.

The landlord looked at all of them, looking prepared to fight him there and then, and decided it would be best to cede the victory to them. So, after an insincere apology, he slunk away.

Erik took a step forward to follow him, but Charles grabbed his wrist and he stopped. All of them quietly got back to work.

Surprisingly, they managed to move all the furniture in one trip. It helped that they were leaving some pieces behind. Charles had found buyers for the sofa, entertainment center, and coffee table, but they’d be coming the next day. So they left his bed, even though he somehow found that he really, really didn’t want to stay. Not with people complaining he “got underfoot”.

As though he were a child, or a pet.

Erik put his hand on Charles’ shoulder as he passed. Charles calmed down a little.

Everyone went to the new house to set the furniture up. Erik’s friends would be bringing his things from his penthouse (not as fancy as it sounded) the next day. Erik and Charles had had a fierce debate regarding the three bedrooms, but Erik had won that, and Charles had the master bedroom. The second biggest would be a shared office, and the smallest would be Erik’s room. Charles wasn’t happy with this arrangement, but the argument had been had, and there was no point poking it until it became a fight. Charles was tired of fighting.

He hadn’t realized how much he and Zander had been fighting until he didn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing and setting off yet another round of shouting, or, worse yet, dagger-glares and cold tones.

“Charles?” Angel touched his shoulder gently and he started back into the present. He was in the new office room, trying to figure out where his desk should go.

“Hm? Oh. Sorry.” He forced a smile. “Wool-gathering, I suppose. I really don’t know where it should go,” he murmured, looking around again. “I don’t want it to get in the way…”

“I’ll get Erik,” Angel said, and left before he could protest. He sighed and eyed the far end of the room. It was an outside wall, and had a window that would be nice for when he was grading papers… but it would be horrible if he was using his laptop. He looked to the wall opposite it. Would it get in the way of the door opening?

Erik appeared in the doorway, and Charles felt the knot in his chest at the thought of fighting tighten. He didn’t want to be indecisive, but he really didn’t--

Erik saw that something was wrong, and stepped forward to put his hand on Charles’ shoulder, squeezing gently, eyebrows drawn together. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Charles fibbed, with another forced smile.

“Bullshit,” Erik replied bluntly. His hand turned over and he stroked his knuckles gently down Charles’ cheek, his thumb swiping along Charles’ cheekbone. “If you don’t tell me now it’s just going to fester.”

Charles took Erik’s hand and pressed his face against it. It would, too. The festering. Damn it. “It’s silly,” Charles muttered. “I was just… thinking about fights with Zander.”

“Because you don’t know where your desk should go?” Erik asked, surprised. Not incredulous, just surprised.

“Not… exactly,” Charles hedged, not meeting Erik’s eyes.

Erik knelt, raised his other hand to turn Charles’ face gently. “Charles. Please tell me.”

Charles bit his lip, trying not to feel too ridiculous. “Well, I’m just, I don’t want to fight, I really don’t, but I can’t help thinking that…” He sighed and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just a small thing.”

Erik kept looking at him though, the steady, piercing gaze that had drawn out every secret Charles had ever tried to keep. Erik knew everything, and he had never laughed or grown angry, no matter how ridiculous Charles got.

Well, he had, but only when Charles could handle it.

“I don’t think we divided up the house fairly,” Charles finally said, staring into Erik’s mutable eyes and hoping he didn’t get annoyed.

Strangely enough, Erik’s mouth ticked up at the corners, and he brushed his fingertips against Charles’ hair (why did he never run his fingers through it like he had when they were in university together?). “Well, we can talk that over later, when we’ve had a chance to settle in a little,” Erik answered him. “For now, if you need help trying to find a place for your desk, I claim one of the windows.”

Charles smiled a little, relieved and trying not to show it. Also trying not to nuzzle into Erik’s palm, not when they had company. Behavior like that was what made his friends think they were dating. “Okay.”

Erik stood and smoothed Charles’ hair back from his forehead gently. Of course it didn’t help, it flopped right down again (he really needed a haircut), but it felt nice. “Let’s finish everything else first, though. You’ll feel better after bossing around the others.”

Charles’ smile grew. “True,” he said.

Erik touched his cheek gently, and they went back out to the living room, where Alex and Hank were arguing over where best to put Charles’ recliner.

~

The next day, Charles sold off the last of his furniture, and Erik and his friend Janos came over to move his bed while Raven and Moira helped him cart boxes.

At the house, Emma and Azazel greeted them. Well, Emma gave a curt nod and Azazel studiously avoided meeting Raven’s hard stare. Their fling had been passionate but short-lived, and Charles had never known the particulars, which was odd. Then again, Azazel was quiet in his own stern way, and Raven knew how to keep secrets from Charles after all these years. He did not comment on anything while he ferried boxes.

In fact, he hardly spoke to them beyond a pleasant “hello” and a comment that Emma looked particularly beautiful today. She narrowed her eyes at him, but tipped her chin up a little and didn’t make a single cutting remark to him. She knew he was trying to sweeten her, and while it was a weak attempt and did not work, she acknowledged that it was at least an  _ attempt _ .

Moira edged around Janos, Emma, and Azazel, always keeping one distrustful eye on them. She still wouldn’t tell Charles what had happened to make her so suspicious of them, but he didn’t quite blame her, really.

Erik, of course, treated them as he always did--terribly. He spoke to them coldly and distantly, but they did as he said, despite the sarcasm and bitterness nearly dripping from their words, and the glares like daggers they shot him at every opportunity. It wasn’t like he made them do all the work and sat around, though; he still moved and tweaked and rearranged with them. They worked together well, no matter how poisonous they were to each other. Charles still didn’t understand how they did it, and he didn’t really want to.

But finally, the work was done, and all that was left was unpacking. Janos and Azazel left, and Emma and Erik held a low argument in the hall while Charles, Raven, and Moira unpacked Charles’ room.

Well, it was low until Emma snapped, “You’re  _ selfish _ , Erik! You always have been and you always will be, but this is beyond your usual selfishness!”

“Jealousy doesn’t become you,” Erik replied coldly.

“I’m not jealous, I’m concerned!” And her voice dropped again, a spitting hiss. Erik’s voice was an angry rumble as he replied quietly.

Moira and Raven glanced at Charles, but his eyes were on the doorway, and he frowned worriedly. If only he could really read minds, like his students sometimes claimed he could. Was it something at work? Charles didn’t know much beyond the fact that Erik was head architect now, and his friends were his subordinates. He used to know everything, but then the promotions happened, and there hadn’t been time for Erik to describe his job. And lately it seemed he didn’t want to.

Well, that was going to change. Charles was determined to learn everything that he’d been keeping at bay. And that meant learning what Erik did at work, what movies and shows he’d watched and enjoyed before absorbing Charles’ preferences, what books he read, why he wouldn’t touch Charles some days and others would refuse to stop cuddling him--

Charles snapped back to the present and continued unpacking.

~

“How’s the move?”

Charles smiled at Jean, a transfer student who seemed to have taken a mothering attitude when it came to Charles (which was amusing, since she was only nineteen). “We finished, actually. All that’s left is unpacking, which is going well,” he informed her. “Were they absolute horrors while I was gone?” He trusted her to tell him what happened without sugarcoating or starting drama.

She wrinkled her nose. “Scott was an ass,” she replied bluntly, “But he always is. Jubilee punched him and he shut up. She didn’t hit him very hard, though. The subs were nice, but they didn’t really do much. We just watched Bill Nye and did worksheets.”

“Mm.” Charles fiddled with his pen, thinking. “Thank you, Jean. Did the subs grade the worksheets?”

Jean shook her head, pulled out three pieces of paper from her folder, neatly stapled together, and handed them to Charles. “They said you’d know better than them,” she explained.

Charles sighed heavily. Great. More grading. But he smiled, thanked her again, and waited for the rest of the class to filter in. They all set their worksheets on his desk before taking their seats. They were learning. Good.

That day was good. The only bad part was when Moira came in with a stern face and asked one of the boys to step out into the hall with her. He didn’t come back.

“Maybe she ate him,” one of the other students whispered to her friend at the end of class. “You know she can kill people just by staring at them, right?”

Charles hid a smile, remembering how Moira snorted when she laughed sometimes and couldn’t bear to watch animal documentaries because she cried over the babies. Kill people with a stare, his ass.

But it wouldn’t do to ruin her reputation. So he said nothing.

At the end of the last class, when everyone was packing up, Erik appeared, looking grumpy as always when he had to be around people he didn’t know. Charles felt himself brighten immediately.

“Erik! You’re early!” he exclaimed, wheeling forward as Erik strode past the stragglers (who were giving Erik wary stares and a very large berth) to stand beside him. “Did something happen?”

“No,” Erik replied bluntly--he was always blunt in public. Charles wanted desperately to touch his arm, but that was against The Rules. “Got off work early. Some idiot started a fire and we had to evacuate.”

“Oh. Was anyone hurt?”

Erik shook his head. “Some smoke inhalation, but nothing serious.” He glanced over his shoulder and scowled. Charles leaned around him, just in time to see several students who’d been lingering in the doorway run away. With no one watching, Charles could finally raise his hand and touch Erik’s arm. Erik’s expression softened, almost fond, though there was still that wary edge he always had in public.

“So you came here instead of work on unpacking,” Charles guessed, smiling.

“Yes,” Erik admitted easily. He was looking at Charles differently now, in a way that made Charles blush a little and want to look away. Erik had been giving him that look more and more lately; and Charles was still puzzling at it, trying to figure out what it meant. Lately he’d been too busy to think about it, but now he had a little time, he just wanted to bask in its warmth. He found himself smiling right back, and now  _ Erik _ blushed a little, but he didn’t look away.

It felt so safe and warm, not at all how he felt with Zander.

“Professor?”

Erik’s head snapped up and around, and Charles’ hand fell away from his arm. He hid his disappointment and managed a different smile for his visitor. “Yes, Jean?”

She was standing in the doorway, clutching a textbook to her chest and eyeing Erik warily. “You said you’d give tutoring?” she half-asked, half-reminded. Two other students peeked over her shoulders.

“Yes, come in,” Charles told them, suppressing a sigh. Looking up at Erik, he asked, “Are you staying or going?”

“Nowhere to go except home,” Erik replied, watching Jean and four others (two had been hiding behind the door) take their seats, “And by the time I get there I’ll have to come back.”

“True.” Charles fiddled with his cuffs, thinking. “Did you bring your laptop?”

“It’s in the car, yes.”

“You could set up in here. That way you can catch up on some work but you won’t have to drive everywhere.”

Erik shrugged. “Alright.” And he left. Charles forced himself not to watch him leave, instead turning to his students.

“Where should we start?” he asked.

“Is he your boyfriend?” Greta blurted.

Charles blinked, and felt his faint smile fade. “No,” he said. It came out quieter than he expected it to. He took a breath and asked, “Shall we get started, then?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments = Life, Love, and Happiness


	5. IT'S HERE

Tutoring while he waited for Erik to come pick him up became a regular occurrence. Scott came after the first day, and needed a  _ lot _ of help. Apparently he’d been getting it from Alex, but Alex hadn’t been in school for quite a while. So Charles sighed and set Jean to helping him when Charles couldn’t.

The German exchange student, Kurt, also partook. He was quiet and awkward, but determined. He improved in leaps and bounds, and Charles made sure to tell him that. He always beamed happily, blue hair flopping in his eyes.

Jubilee didn’t need any help, she just wanted the extra mostly-quiet time to study. Charles respected that, but he still checked in on occasion when she seemed to be struggling a little.

“How do you always know?” she asked one day, when he asked if she needed help and she admitted to not understanding a chapter in her textbook.

“I’m psychic,” Charles joked with a smile.

“Don’t joke about that,” Greta snapped. “You  _ are _ psychic. Or at least you were in another life.”

“I’m not so sure,” Charles replied thoughtfully. “Maybe in a parallel universe. But not in another life.”

“Is there a difference?” Scott muttered.

“Of course there is,” Jean answered, “Just like how in a parallel universe you aren’t such an asshole.”

Scott flushed, but did not contradict her.

At the end of every session, Erik would arrive, and while the students went quiet and packed their things quickly, Charles always felt himself perk up a little. Work could be draining, but time with Erik…

This is why people think you’re together, sneered a nasty little voice in the back of Charles’ head. It was also the voice that talked about how he was going to die alone and miserable, so he ignored it.

There were other things to do besides work, of course. There was unpacking, and chess (he’d missed chess with Erik), and going to the theatre with Raven. There was sporadic lunches at the coffeehouse on campus with Moira. There was writing articles and papers for various scientific publications, during which he would wax poetic on the intricacies and beauty of the human genome until Erik gently shut him up by suggesting they watch something on Netflix (he could never resist cuddling while watching a bad movie or excellent tv show). 

There was the unexpected visitation of Emma one day, while Erik was off grocery shopping.

Charles greeted her with a puzzled smile. “Ah… hello, Miss Frost,” he greeted, because while she was Emma in his head, he could never bring himself to call her that name out loud. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“It’s about Erik,” she replied bluntly.

Charles moved out of her way, and she entered the house, brushing her hair away from her face as she looked around disapprovingly. Charles winced as he shut the door. He hadn’t cleaned up his mess in a few days, though Erik had reminded him several times. Really, it was just some books and papers. And a cardigan or two. And a sock.

“Hmph,” Emma said, then turned sharply to glare at Charles. “You know he’s not as tough as he pretends he is,” she told Charles, almost scolding him. “He’s brittle, alright? Bad things have happened to him.”

“I know,” Charles replied, and he did. Erik had never kept secrets from him for long. They knew everything about each other. “He’s also stronger than you seem to think.”

Emma snorted. “I  _ know _ him, Xavier. I knew him when we were babies in diapers. I know  _ all _ his tics and tells. You only have, what, sixteen years? Eighteen?”

“Twenty.”

“You can’t count the years there was an ocean between you.”

“What are you saying, Frost?” Charles asked quietly, staring at her hard.

She glared right back. “I am  _ saying _ ,” she hissed, taking a threatening step forward, “If you so much as  _ look _ at him wrong, you’re going to break him. And if you do, god help me, you will wish you were never  _ born _ .”

The front door opened, and Erik walked in, his face hard and his eyes flinty. “I saw your car,” he told Emma. “Why are you here?”

She gave a sickly sweet smile that was definitely meant to be seen right through. “Just dropped in for a chat,” she replied sweetly. “I’m done now, though.” With one last hateful glare at Charles, she swept out of the house.

Erik glared after her for a moment, then turned to Charles, who quickly stopped rubbing his forehead and smiled weakly.

“Do you need help carrying anything in?” he asked, because he really didn’t want to have to think about Emma’s words right now. Not with Erik standing there, tough as tungsten. How could Charles possibly break him?

Erik’s face softened like it did so often, and said, “Yes, actually. I… bought a little more than needful.”

Charles smiled more genuinely, and wheeled closer. “Meaning you bought ice cream and strawberries.”

Erik made a face. “Ice cream was on sale, that’s all,” he muttered.

“What flavor?”

“Moose Tracks.”

“You are the absolute  _ best _ .”

Erik smiled. “I know.”

~

The party was at the old Xavier homestead, and everyone who was invited came. Which would have been alarming, if there hadn’t been so much room.

Raven was hostess, but she had Moira to help, and Hank organized the more socially awkward guests so that no one felt pressured, but none of them were left out, either. Charles just had to endure the party for a few hours before Raven made her engagement announcement, and then he could slip away.

He still thought the engagement was too soon, despite the nearly ten years Raven and Hank had known each other. Then again, he thought everything was too soon for his little sister.

Erik helped him dress in the Birthday Outfit that Raven had bought him as his present. He had Birthday Outfits dating back to when they were in high school. This one was a soft midnight-blue suit with a black shirt underneath and a silk tie that brought out his eyes. He even got a haircut, though he rolled his eyes at Erik for even suggesting he needed one. The eye-roll was softened by a smile, and he felt a little thrum of happiness when Erik smiled back.

Dinner was at six-thirty, so they arrived promptly at four. There were already a few early arrivals who fussed at Charles, but he fended them off with a soft laugh and a reminder that he wasn’t a small child, he didn’t need fussing at. Everyone was careful in their greetings of Erik, who was careful in his replies. Charles knew he was suspicious of their wariness, but he couldn’t exactly reassure him with everyone watching, now, could he? It made him a little sad, but ultimately he decided this would be a good thing.

Guests poured in, all with gifts, and all with hugs and kisses for Charles. Some of his cousins brought their small children, who shrieked, “COUSIN CHARLIE, COUSIN CHARLIE!” and broke from their parents to hug Charles. He laughed and hugged back, once again wishing desperately that he had children of his own.

“Cousin Charlie, where’s the cake?” little Jordan asked, craning his neck to look around hopefully.

“No cake yet,” Madeline, his older sister, scolded him. “We gotta have dinner first.”

“Cousin Charlie!” three-year-old Marie caroled, climbing into Charles’ lap.

Madeline insisted on pushing Charles around, and Jordan jogged at his side, chattering happily about the chemistry set his parents had bought for him. Marie surveyed the room from Charles’ lap like a queen on her moving throne. Erik shadowed them, looking both annoyed and amused.

Charles had been dreading dealing with all the pitying looks from adults; the children, however, asked all sorts of questions and did not pity him, simply bubbling over with curiosity. That was one reason he loved youngsters. All that wanting to know,  _ needing _ to know, and none of the silly prejudices. He answered them patiently and clearly, cuddling Marie close as Jordan and Madeline peered up at him, absolutely serious as they listened. Madeline parked him by the snack table, and the children shared celery sticks and cucumber slices and mini tomatoes while Charles talked to them. 

Erik hovered close by, but not too close. At least, not until Jordan noticed him and asked, “Who’re you?”

“I’m Charles’ roommate,” Erik answered, stepping a little closer. “I make sure he eats his vegetables.”

Charles wrinkled his nose and the children giggled. “What’s your name?” Madeline asked.

“Erik. What’s yours?”

The children were as curious about Erik as they were about Charles, and soon they had moved to a table near the edge of the room so Erik could sit in a chair as he leaned down to talk to the kids. Charles knew Erik did not particularly like most children, but he was making an effort for Charles’ little cousins, and that made Charles very happy.

Parents came and gently ushered their children away, despite the exaggerated groans and dragged feet. Charles and Erik were left alone, watching the party swirling around them. There were clear groups of people who knew each other, although sometimes the edges blurred as social butterflies found each other. Charles watched them all, and remembered how he used to be one of the people who drew little crowds of friends and brought others together. Now he was being given a wide berth, and he honestly didn’t know why.

“Raven’s glaring at me,” Erik murmured, for Charles’ ears only. “I’d better socialize.”

Charles nodded. “Try Henry. He’s a machinist,” he explained, nodding towards his friend Henry. Erik looked intrigued, nodded, and stood to walk over to Henry and introduce himself. Charles did not watch him go, though he felt a twinge of loneliness as he sat at the table and looked around.

Jenny walked over to Charles and asked, “Rebound’s working out, then?”

“Re--oh. He’s not a rebound,” Charles sighed. “He’s an old friend.”

Jenny gave him a sly look. “Then why does he follow you like a puppy?” she asked coaxingly.

“Because he’s not really a big party person. He’ll relax.” Charles did not glance over to see how Erik was doing. “How have you been?”

He chatted with Jenny for a bit, and then, slowly, he found himself encircled by people. It felt so familiar. It was just like old times. He sat up a little straighter, smiled a little brighter, gestured with his hands as he spoke. It was a good feeling.

Dinner was served, and everyone filtered into the dining hall. Madeline pushed Charles’ chair again, and she, Jordan, and Marie claimed the chairs next to him, completely ruining Raven’s careful planning of who sat where. She didn’t seem to mind, though, smiling as she sat next to Madeline. Erik hesitated, then claimed the seat on Raven’s other side.

Charles didn’t quite register until everyone had settled that he was at the head of the table. He wasn’t used to that. He preferred sitting along the side; but it was his birthday, and he was the eldest child, even if he was disinherited. So he sat at the head of the table.

He could almost hear Kurt and Cain grinding their teeth while Mother raved.

But they were all dead, and therefore had no say in anything. So Charles took a deep breath and accepted his place.

Dinner was excellent. The many cakes, pies, and brownies for dessert were just as good. He blushed deeply and glared at Raven when she placed a small cake in front of him with five candles in it. She grinned and lit them with a match.

“Make a wish, make a wish, make a wish!” Madeline and Jordan chanted. The adults quieted. Charles wanted to push the cake away; he already knew it was Raven’s special recipe, and the candles were a reference to the time an elderly aunt had made his cake and forgotten his age, and he was going to cry if he didn’t get this over with. So he took a deep breath, cast around desperately for a wish--

_ I wish I knew why he’s so good to me _

\--and he blew out the candles.

~

Erik set his last metal sculpture on the bookcase next to ugly picture frame Charles had been gifted for his birthday and grinned. “All done,” he said smugly.

“Excellent,” Charles sighed happily, transferring from his chair to the sofa. “It only took forever.”

Erik chuckled and walked over to sit next to him, wrapping his arm around Charles’ shoulders. Charles leaned against Erik and told himself not to snuggle. Don’t snuggle, Charles. Don’t you dare--

But Erik was warm and smelled good and Charles couldn’t help it, he had to. It had been… a bad few weeks, after an excellent party.

Not at home, of course. Charles and Erik shared chores and duties, a rotating schedule, and they could be quiet together or be as loud as they wanted, and they hadn’t fought even  _ once _ . Disagreements came up, but they were easy to settle. And they could touch whenever they wanted. His homelife was excellent.

But he’d been getting restless. He didn’t need his pain pills anymore, and it seemed they had been the reason for his quietness and lowered mood. Now he wanted to  _ do _ things. He wanted to go out and hit a bar, he wanted to do the grocery shopping on his own, he wanted to prove that he was independant. Erik let him. Every time Charles announced he wanted to do something, Erik said, “Alright.”

Erik was such a pushover sometimes, it would be annoying if it weren’t so cute.

Work was getting ridiculous, mostly because the rumor had started that Erik was his new boyfriend. It  _ hurt _ when people said that. Not just because it made him think of Zander, but because--because--well, it hurt, and he didn’t like it, but no matter how many times he said no, he’s not, please stop, the rumors persisted. Not just the students believed it, but the faculty, as well. He’d get sly remarks and questions, and it was making him snappish and angry.

Even the students he was tutoring believed it. Maybe they’d started the rumors. He thought they were above that, but, well… 

He tried to pull away from Erik, but that hurt, too; and the sadness in Erik’s eyes that one time Charles had refused cuddles had made him feel so guilty that he gave in and pulled Erik down so his head was in Charles’ lap, and they watched some movie on Netflix that way. Erik had looked so happy. It made Charles want to hug him. He settled for running his fingers through Erik’s hair.

Why was everything better with him? Why did his grin make Charles smile, even when he was in the bleakest mood? Why couldn’t he get enough of Erik’s soft touches? Why did he want to kiss him so much?

Why did Charles want to keep this, protect this, cherish this forever and ever?

“Chess,” he said suddenly. “Play chess with me.”

“Alright,” Erik said, and stood to fetch the chess set.

They set up on the sofa, the chess set between them on the middle cushion while they both sat sideways, facing each other. They’d been playing quite a bit lately, as a way to relax. Erik had told Charles about his work; it sounded complicated and time-consuming, and when Charles worried aloud that he was taking up Erik’s time, Erik had flashed his famous shark-grin and said, “I’ve learned to delegate. And my subordinates have learned to do as I say. Even Emma.”

Chess had been one of those Sacred Moments in both their lives when they were in university. They always set aside time for it. Now that they lived together, they could play whenever they wanted; which was often. Charles knew from university how it calmed Erik, how his brow would clear and his mind would seem to empty of everything except the game. Charles had learned the little signs that Erik needed that; the slight flexing of his hands, the particular drag of his mouth, the almost imperceptible sharpness in his voice when he spoke. The narrowing of his eyes and the tightness of his neck meant he had a stress-headache. Set shoulders and a certain way he held Charles meant he was angry. When all of these things combined, they could play for hours. But always, eventually, Erik would calm and his body would relax, and he would smile at Charles across the chessboard.

Even with how plentiful Erik’s smiles already were, those were special, and Charles felt warm and triumphant every time.

Now, after only two games, one win to Charles and one to Erik, the latter looked up, studied Charles for a moment, and then gave that smile. Only this time it had an odd edge to it, nervous? Excited? Charles gave him a questioning look, tilting his head a little.

“You’re adorable,” Erik blurted.

Charles blinked, and blushed, biting his lip. “Um,” he said, eyes dropping to the chessboard. “Thank you.”

“Can--” Erik cut himself off, swallowed hard. “Can I kiss you?”

Charles’ head snapped up, and he stared at Erik. He didn’t even know he’d answered--a breathy little “Yes,”--until Erik was leaning forward. Charles tilted his head a little to receive him better, and almost stopped breathing when Erik kissed him.

Erik’s lips were warm and soft against his, and he couldn’t help pushing forward a little, trying to deepen the kiss--Erik cupped Charles’ face in his hands and pulled away, breathing a little harder than was strictly necessary. Then again, Charles was panting and wide-eyed and suddenly very afraid. Because he wanted more. He really did. He wanted to make out, very badly, but he wasn’t sure…

“Another,” he said.

“Yes,” Erik whispered, and kissed him again, harder.

The chess set was knocked over, but neither of them cared. Erik pushed Charles down on his back, gently, and kissed him, not at all gently. Charles welcomed him, and the way he shifted Charles’ legs, and the way his tongue explored Charles’ mouth, and the way his body completely covered Charles, shoulders to hips--

Then suddenly Erik broke away again. Charles moaned and grabbed the back of his neck, trying to pull him down again, but Erik stayed strong, forearms braced on either side of Charles’ head. Charles scowled. Erik smiled, a new kind of smile, so full of fondness, of affection, of--of--

“I love you,” Erik croaked.

Charles went very still.

Slowly, Erik’s smiled faded, and he began to look uncertain, maybe a little scared. Charles blinked owlishly.

“Me?” he said in a very small voice.

“Yes,” Erik replied, “You.”

“But… you said…”

No. Wait. Back up.

All the way back. Back all those weeks ago, when Erik had ordered him to take a bath to relieve some tension, and had let slip that there had been someone. Twenty years. He’d said twenty years.

Back over two years. When Erik had been so distant and secretive about his personal life.

Back to university. When Erik had been so disapproving of his bar-hopping and one night stands.

Back to high school. When he was so jealous of Charles spending time with girlfriends.

Back to grade school, all those fights with Emma about how their friendship was fake.

Forward to now.

Everything.

Everything.

Charles couldn’t see very well, the world swimming, his eyes hot and full. “You never said,” he whispered.

“I tried,” Erik answered softly. “You didn’t see, and I thought that meant you didn’t want me.”

Charles laughed, but it was small and weak and rough with tears. “I am an idiot,” he said.

“No.” Erik smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “Not you. Not my Charles.”

My Charles. It made him want to cry harder. My Charles.

“My Erik,” he mumbled.

“Yours,” Erik whispered, and kissed him gently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand done! Wow, this was a ride. Thank you so much to everyone for reading and commenting, y'all are the best!!! Pleas enjoy the image of snuggling, soft kisses, and gentle touching, as well as murmured "I love you"s, because I certainly do. ;u;
> 
> Again, thank you!!! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Comments = life, love, and happiness.


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